Date: Wed, 8 Sep 2010 18:34:06 -0700 (PDT)
From: Zac Grech
Subject: Hardball
Amazing: just three little words and the world turned upside down.
Until November that year, Billy Quaid had never been fucked, except
by his big brother Mitch, of course, but that didn't count (did it?). A
lot of the guys he knew had fooled around with their brothers - it didn't
mean anything. Anyway, it wasn't as if Mitch (who was 22, long-dicked and
hairy-legged) sneaked into his room at night and raped him or anything.
They just got into a tussle now and again, balls got grabbed, cocks went
stiff - and sometimes Mitch rammed his hairy prong up his arse and emptied
his balls in him. No big deal. He didn't jack off thinking about it or
anything. He didn't really think about getting fucked at all.
In fact, his best friend Jimmy Bolt nailed his kid brother most
afternoons as soon he got home from football practice - a couple of times
he'd watched him do it - just busted his little nuts, bent him over and
fucked him. It was just boys being boys, Jimmy said. Jimmy had offered to
fuck him once too (cheeky bugger) while they were jerking off together one
afternoon on his bed, but Billy had just laughed and pushed him off, so
Jimmy had gone and cornered his brat of a brother in the bathroom and
rooted the shit out of him instead. Jimmy always said he could do his
brother as well if he wanted to ('Go on, what are you waiting for? Fuck
him, man!'), but Billy never did - the kid wasn't even going to put up a
fight. Guys should at least go down fighting, shouldn't they? Or yelling
for more or something. (Even little Tommy Crabtree put up a fight, after
all, whenever the guys surrounded him behind the bike-shed to do him over:
he kicked most of them in the goolies at least once before he went down.
Anyway, Tommy Crabtree deserved it, he pinched stuff out of other kids'
lockers.) Billy had liked the look of that succulent, raw-fucked hole,
though, at the fork of those boyish splayed legs of his, leaking Jimmy's
ball-juice. And the ripe smell, too. And the dirty fuck words the kid had
grunted into the pillow while he was getting hammered. Billy did shoot a
load or two over himself thinking about that when he got home.
A few men had admired Billy's taut whiteness - like that Greek guy
in the fish-shop, eyes smouldering behind long, inky-black hair, Billy
somehow knew straight away what he was after - but he always scooted out of
the shop with his fish and chips before anything could happen. And then
went back for more a few days later. Over and over again, as a matter of
fact, liking the feeling of his mouth going dry and his cock uncurling
deliciously between his legs, pulling at the hairs in his groin. But
nothing ever happened. What could happen? Some men liked his blond
cork-screwing hair, too - he knew that as well. 'Fuckin' sexy hair, mate,'
the young guy at the gas-station had said to him one Saturday afternoon,
with a white-toothed grin. 'What's sexy about it?' he'd asked, grinning
back. 'Work it out, kiddo,' the guy had said, eyeing his crotch and
flashing him another grin. So he worked it out. His crazy hair made some
guys wonder what they'd see if they got his pants off - and he did have a
tangle of blond cork-screws around his cock, too, he'd tried trimming it,
but Mitch said it made him look like a ponce, so he let the cork-screws
sprout again - but he hadn't realised until that moment that it turned some
weirdos on. He always dropped in to the gas-station for cigarettes on a
Saturday afternoon after that. Fucking perv - but he kind of got a buzz
out of the game.
Then after school finished that November, before college started,
he found himself hanging out more and more not with Jimmy but with another
of his school friends, Raffy Conti - no special reason, he just liked
mucking around with him, going to the movies, spending the day at the
beach, fishing and skinny-dipping with him in the creek down the coast
where nobody went during the week. Sure, he was a good-looking guy - heavy
red-black hair, a really weird colour, with olive skin, kind of lanky, with
a slightly whipped-puppy look that made Billy want to whip him. (He'd
never wanted to whip Jimmy. In fact, Jimmy was getting boring, always
trying to impess girls and saying 'dude' a lot.) But he laughed a lot.
They fooled around a bit when they were skinny-dipping - just a bit of
goosing, a jab or two to the nuts, maybe, a grab for each other's stalks -
just two juiced-up mates having a bit of a lark. He had a nice uncut
dangling cock, it's true, and a glossy Italian bush that sparkled when the
sun caught the water droplets in it after they'd been splashing about
... and a neat black-haired crack ... but ... well, he didn't really
imagine doing things with him, or only sometimes, maybe, while he was
jacking off at night in bed for want of any other cocks or cracks to
picture that summer.
Then it happened. Late November. His birthday. Like a bolt from
the blue - something he could not ever have foreseen, something from right
off his radar. No, not a bolt from the blue: he felt like an arrow, an
arrow someone had suddenly shot up into the sky from a taut bow, leaving
everyone he'd known, everything he'd been, far, far below - his
shaggy-pronged brother, his mate Jimmy boning his scrawny kid brother up
against the bedroom wall, the bike-shed boys, the Greek with hair like
black spaghetti, the gas-station guy oozing mischief as he reached for his
cigarettes, not to mention Carmel O'Rourke, who smelt of fishpaste and
patchouli oil and always tried to snog him at school dances, pressing her
warm crotch against his fattening cock ... all of them, far, far below now,
even Raffy himself, who was kind of involved, Raffy with those sexy
red-black curls of his on the nape of his thin neck ... although he still
wouldn't have minded giving him a whipping sometimes, those big, dark eyes
of his and jutting lips ... just ants now, all of them. Who would have
thought?
He wasn't even feeling horny that night - a bit cocky, but not on
heat. 'Want to have dinner at my dad's restaurant?' Raffy said. 'A
birthday treat.' 'Sounds great,' he said. His own father hadn't even rung
him for his birthday and Mitch never remembered. So they went and stuffed
themselves with pasta and gelato and joshed across the table the way they
always did. Then Raffy's dad joined them in their booth, sitting down
beside Billy, shaking his hand, offering a bit of small talk ... lean like
his son, with short salt and pepper hair and dark stubble on his strong
jaws. Evil little goatee, too, that Billy rather liked. Not brawny but
tough like a knife. When Raffy, who started jiggling his knees and looking
even more whipped than usual once his father joined them, went to the
bathroom, his father tousled Billy's hair - just like that, suddenly, and
licked his lips - and said; 'So what are you going to study next year,
Billy Boy? Something useful, I hope - not ... what is it Raffy wants to
do? Communications or something. What the fuck is that?' And guffawed.
And then he dropped his hand straight down Billy's back, inside his pants
and into his crack. Billy went blank. His mind just went white. His jaw
locked. 'Communications ... sounds like something only pussyboys would
do,' he said, jamming one finger into Billy's moist, clenched hole. 'What
do you think, Billy?' Billy sweated and stared at his breadroll. The
finger was looking for something, found it and scratched it and Billy
jerked his head back and moaned softly. 'What are you going to do, Billy?'
And then, as Raffy started to make his way back towards them between the
tables, he leant over and croaked in Billy's ear: 'Are you a pussyboy like
Raffy, Billy Quaid?' Jab. 'Or do you like playing hardball?' Jab. Then he
crooked his finger, scratching the aching knot inside him and slid it out.
Billy juddered. 'Drop round and see me tomorrow night at eleven. I'll show
you what I mean.'
Billy hardly heard what he said next - something about how the
waiter was getting slack and needed a good bollocking - he just sat there,
staring straight ahead. But a fuse had been lit.
So all the next day he burned. He wouldn't go, of course, he'd
never go near the place again, but he burned, something gnawed at his hole,
his balls churned, his springy cock strained to uncoil in its sweaty pouch,
he felt sick, he felt hungry, and what made him feel sickest and hungriest
of all was that he began picturing himself playing hardball (whatever that
was) with Raffy's dad, picturing things he didn't even know how to picture
- being forced to suck on his dick till he gagged, for instance, being
thrown down on a bed and raped till he cried. By the time night fell he
was almost swooning from his lust for maleness. What was wrong with him?
He'd never thought about things like that before. No, he wouldn't go. But
at half past ten, thick-cocked and tight with fear, he left the house and
walked to the restaurant. The waiter, a wiry, dark-haired young guy with
an eyebrow-ring, was wheeling the bins out to the kerbside and said to him:
'Are you Billy? Dino's round the back, locking up. He's .. um
.. expecting you.' Then, as Bill headed round the side, he called out:
'Hang on a minute - I'll come with you. You can keep him talking while I
make my get-away.'
'Get-away?'
'I'm in the shit. The fucker's after my arse.' What did that mean?
Billy's hole started pulsing.
Dino - Billy hadn't even known his name - was standing by the back
door smoking. 'Come inside, Billy,' he said, grasping him by the shoulder.
'And you get inside as well, Leo. Thought you could sneak off, did you?
Not until you take what's coming - and you know what that is.' And he
pushed Leo in after Billy.
'Aw, fuck, boss, not tonight ... please. I'm meeting up with a
couple of ...'
'Shut up, Leo. You really fucked up tonight. And you know what
that means.'
'Aw, fuck, man ... no, please, not tonight.'
'You know the rules, Leo. Now, get over there to the bench, drop
your pants and spread your legs. I want Billy here to see what happens to
boys like you who fuck up.'
Still grumbling, Leo went over to the bench, dropped his pants and
bent over. Billy didn't know whether to make a dash for the door or wait
to see what happened next. He could hardly breathe. He just stared at
Leo's sinewy, black-haired legs and the heavy ball-sac and cock dangling
between them.
'Now, spread those fucking cheeks for us, Leo - let Billy see that
hairy arsehole of yours before I rape it. Like the look of that man-cunt,
Billy? It needs a good fucking, don't you think?' Billy just swallowed
hard and began rubbing at his cock through his jeans. 'What do you say,
Billy? Do you think that arse needs a taste of my belt before it gets
ploughed?'
And then Billy spoke for the first time and said: 'Yes, sir, I do.
Fucking thrash it.' And he nearly blacked out when he heard himself say
it. And Dino gave him a mischievous grin, slid off his belt and lashed
Leo's arse three times savagely. Leo didn't make a sound until the fourth
time when the belt caught him across the balls. He yelped. 'You bastard -
you got me in the nuts!'
'Bastard am I? Did you hear that, Billy? Now he's really going to
cop a hiding.' A few more vicious slashes with the belt and then he paused
and said to Billy: 'And do you know what happens to boys with a big mouth
on them after they get a hiding? They get fucked.'
'Yes, sir, Mr Conti - fuck him,' Billy croaked. His blood was up,
he was shaking with animal arousal.
'You want to see him fucked?'
'Yes, sir, I do. Fuck him hard.'
'Oh, I will, Billy. I'm going to fuck his brains out. Come closer
and watch. You need to know what I do to boys like Leo.'
And that's when he unzipped, letting his pants drop to his ankles,
and his pole reared up out of its nest of matted black curls, and, slicking
it up with olive oil, he punched it into Leo's pulsating hole, rammed it in
and up, almost lifting Leo up off the floor with the force of it. Leo
howled and bucked, but then, as Dino started to slam-fuck him, he gave up
and slumped over the bench, swearing and groaning, but taking it, jerking
on his own cock as Dino knifed into him. High on the stench of male sweat,
squelchy, fucked arse and dirty jocks, Billy let his own young cock spring
out of his flies and began jacking it. It didn't last long. In an
explosion of foul curses and cries - Leo was almost yodelling in his
cock-frenzy - they all started spurting their juice, stinking thick gobs of
it, on the floor, into Leo's matted crack, into the hairs on his legs.
Dino grunted, slapped Leo across his butt and stepped back,
panting. And that's when Billy saw it: arcing up out of his damp bush
across his abdomen Dino had a tattoo. It was a red-handled dagger. Its
handle was almost hidden by the hair, but the blade curved up out of it low
across his abdomen. And Billy instantly wanted to kneel down and lick it,
lick all of it, from its root deep in this man's sweaty groin to the tip of
its blade. But he didn't. He just shuddered a couple of times as he shot
off his last drops of ball-juice and gave Dino a complicit smile.
Weirdly, Leo stood up and pulled on his pants as if nothing had
even happened. He was almost swaggering. 'I guess I deserved that, boss,'
he said, with a bad-boy grin. 'Fuck, I'm going to be bow-legged for days!'
And he laughed.
Billy got to know the tattooed dagger intimately over the next few
months, his face jammed into Dino's bush as he sucked and tongued him,
parting the hairs to nuzzle at its full length, but not that night. That
night, to his surprise, he and Leo were almost kicked out the door as soon
as they hoisted their pants. He'd been harpooned, though, as surely and
brutally as Leo had been, even though he went home that night with his
greedy boy-hole still tight, still craving cock, Raffy's father's
fuck-meat, his mate Raffy's father's mushroom-headed ram-rod, not just any
cock, not Leo's, for instance, who offered to give him a good shagging on
the back seat before he dropped him off - 'Come on, mate, you owe me one -
that little show was for your benefit, you know', he said - but Billy just
pushed him off and said: 'Another time, maybe'. He nearly let him, though,
his hole was fucking spasming with want, he was right on the edge and Leo's
slimy pole was just inches away, gleaming in the streetlight, but in a
crazy way Dino was already fucking him. His cock had already found is
mark. It was just a matter of waiting to be hauled in.
A day went by, two days, three days of fuck fever, and then his
phone rang. It was nearly midnight. 'Where are you, Billy Quaid?' It was
him. Billy's throat gummed up. 'At home in bed.'
Dino sort of smirked aloud. 'Alone?'
'Yes.' Well, alone with one greased finger up his arse and his
fist round his cock, but he wasn't going to say that.
'A good-looking kid like you? We can do better than that. I'll
pick you up in five minutes.' Click. Billy leapt out of bed and pulled on
a t-shirt and some shorts. He had good legs.
Driving up in his van, Dino came round and opened the door for
Billy. 'Ciao, Billy. How are you doing?' He raked his eyes over Billy's
bare, blond-haired legs. His red shirt was undone to the navel, his shaven
chest hairs glinting in the soft light from inside the car. 'Listen,
before you get in, amico ... the thing is this: I'm not picking you up for
a chat about the weather - know what I mean?
'Well, sir, Mr Conti, I ...'
'Oh, I think you do. I mean that, if you get in the van with me,
you come across.' Billy gulped. His heart started thumping. 'That's the
deal. OK? It's showtime. You get in - I fuck you. Right up that tight
arse of yours. Hard. If you're not up for it, don't get in the car.
Capito?' Billy said nothing. He could hardly think. He'd known it would
be like this, of course. He'd wanted it to be like this.
'Capito,' he said and slid into the front seat. It was less of a
commitment in Italian.
Pulling away from the kerb, Dino ran one hand up his thigh to the
fork. 'Free-balling tonight, are we, Billy? Nice!' he said, flashing him
an almost boyish grin. 'Rearing to go, too, by the feel of it.' He
sniffed his fingers. 'You've been jerking off, you dirty little fucker!
You stink of it. You'll get smacked in the balls for that. I like my men
with their balls full when I fuck them. Understand?' Billy had never been
called a man before. His cock went rock-hard on the spot.
What happened when they got to the restaurant was more or less what
happened every time they met that summer, right up until he said the three
words he shouldn't have said. There was no playing around before he was
fucked - Dino played around after, not before. He was stripped naked,
bollocked hard for jerking off, bent over the bench with his slim legs wide
apart, roughly greased up with two fingers and then slam-fucked into next
week. All Dino said before plunging his hair-draped prong into him was:
'Nice furry hole you've got there, mate. I like my men to have furry
holes. I like my men to be men.' It was only when he'd finished shooting
his warm man-juice deep up inside him that Dino reached round and almost
gently stroked his sticky stalk to orgasm for him. And then knelt down and
licked out his hole while he fondled his balls - and Billy had never had
his hole eaten out before, the piercing pleasure of it, bristles scraping
his crack, shot right up into his throat, making him gasp and bang his
fists on the bench. And then Dino pushed him onto his back on the floor,
squatted over his lips and opened up his own ripe hole for Billy's swirling
tongue, batting at his balls and grunting: 'Yeah, eat it out, Billy, get
your tongue up into that fucking manhole.' Usually when guys went for his
nuts, Billy tried to cover them, but when Dino started smacking at them, he
actually spread his legs wider - he wanted them busted, he wanted the jabs
of pain, they made him feel more male. And then after he'd brutalized his
bruised hole one more time, Dino plunged his tongue down his throat, told
him to get his shorts back on, squeezed his nuts and took him home. 'And
from now on,' Dino said as he got out of the car, 'no more fucking around
with my son. OK?'
'I don't fuck around with him - honest. We just ...'
'Bullshit. Last time I looked you could've driven a horse and cart
up that boy's fuckhole - did you think I wouldn't notice?'
'It wasn't me - I swear.'
'I see the way he looks at you. Do you think I don't know how
pussyboys look at the guy who's feeding them cock? If it's not you, who is
it? Anyway, if I catch you breeding my boy again, I'll ...' What? Have
him gang-banged by the guys in the kebab shop? Kick his balls up into his
throat? Dino wasn't saying. He just wrapped his fist round his nuts,
crushed them till he yelped and said: 'I've got you by the balls, Billy
Quaid, and don't you forget it.' Billy shivered. But his cock boned up
nicely.
He was so stunned that he just stood on the kerb in the dark,
staring at the disappearing tail-lights. Raffy? Fucked? He felt angry
and jealous and ... betrayed. Which was stupid - what did he care who
Raffy gave up his hole to? He was just his mate. Mind you, he'd thought
sometimes that he'd like to smack him around a bit and make him not just
whimper but cry out and sob (for a change), maybe having his best mate's
cock rammed up his arse might juice up whatever they had going between
them, make him fight back a bit the way a real mate should, give the wuss
some balls. Billy was no arse-bandit, but it had crossed his mind that
being able to look at your mate and think 'I've fucked you' might be pretty
hot, pumping him full of your baby-makers when he let his guard down might
sharpen things up a bit when they got together, give their twosome a bit of
edge. He was just really pissed off that some other sneaky bastard had got
there first, that's all.
But what the fuck was Dino doing looking at Raffy's hole?
Every week or so after that night Dino used to call him and minutes
later drag him off for a fucking. He kept him aching for it, going quietly
mad for it, in a fever for it - and then in just an hour or so it was all
over and the hunger pangs began again. It was never quite enough. In
between times he still hung around with Raffy - movies, the beach, a tennis
match or two, hours in pizza parlours talking, but Billy never breathed a
word to him about his father. The mere thought that he might let something
drop scared him shitless. And he never asked him who'd been fucking him,
either, and Raffy didn't drop any clues. He went nut-brown over the
summer, Raffy did, his long, silky-haired legs almost begging to be spread
and ... oh, yes, Billy could imagine now exactly what a man might do to
Raffy if he got him naked and spreadeagled on a bed - or up against a wall
or anywhere. He could imagine him whooping with lust and pain. But
nothing was said. He was constantly on the edge of blurting something out,
but never did. It was torture.
As time went by, Dino got a bit more playful. One week he might
meet him in the toilets behind the cricket-ground and screw him like a bit
of rough trade in one of the stalls. The next week he might tell him to
get out on the beach road and start hitchhiking as soon as he saw the van
coming. He'd pick him up and then, pretending he'd never seen him before
in his life, drive up a side road and rape him in the back of the van,
muffling his cries with a towel. Twice he tore a hole in his underpants
and force-fucked him through the hole. Once he tied him up in the
storeroom at the restaurant and stuck his cock down his throat and drilled
his arse whenever he felt like it all afternoon. (Leo ducked in and
quickly raped him once, too - into him like a rat up a drainpipe, he was -
scared witless that Dino might catch him at it.)
Just after Christmas Dino told him to meet him in a gay video
lounge. Grabbing him by his bush, he hauled him over to a divan and in
front of all the other guys fucked his eyeballs out. The others all milled
around the two rutting men like dogs on heat. Only then did Dino take him
into the bathroom to eat out his armpits and milk his straining dick for
him, swallowing every drop when he started to spew his jizz. On New Year's
Eve he took both him and Raffy to the Italian club and, while Raffy was
over at the bar collecting drinks, Dino took him outside and quickly
ravaged his arse with tongue and cock in a darkened doorway, and then
sauntered back inside to sit with his son as if he'd just been outside
smoking a cigarette. Couldn't Raffy smell his freshly fucked, dribbling
arse? He gave no sign of it, but just sat there next to him looking
jittery the way boys like Jimmy or Tommy Crabtree did at school, lining up
to be caned. And always, before he skewered him, he ran his fingers
through the curls in his groin to see if there was any dried cum there, and
if there was he got a fist in his balls straight away - hard. Getting his
balls mashed turned him on so much that sometimes he jerked off quickly as
soon as the phone went, just to have Dino say to him; 'You pathetic
scum-bag, you've been pulling on your dick again. Spread those legs - come
on! Spread 'em! Hands behind your back! OK, now take it like a man.'
Once his balls were so swollen by the time he got home that even his
half-stoned brother Mitch noticed when he started groping him. He had to
suck him off to stop him asking any further questions. Funny how different
his cum tasted from Dino's. Sucking his skanky brother off made him feel
sick these days, but, if he didn't, he might get into a tussle with him and
Mitch would want to finger his hole and then he'd find it gaping and
clogged with spunk, and then he'd want to empty his own balls into him and
... he was too sore and fucked out and stuck on Dino - stuck on Dino's
long, hard spike - for that.
Then one day right at the end of summer, on one of the last hot
days before college started, he and Raffy were lying on the beach together
for want of anything better to do. Raffy was leafing through some magazine
or other and Billy was just lying there in his speedos half asleep in the
sun. Then suddenly, in a low voice, Raffy said: 'See that guy over there?
The one with spiky black hair and the tattoo?'
Billy hoisted himself up onto one elbow and looked across at the
guy, who had his broad, oiled back to them - playing with his phone, by the
look of it. 'Yeah. What about him?'
'See that tattoo? It's the same as the one my father's got.'
Billy squinted into the sun. Between his shoulder-blades there it
was: the curving dagger tattoo. 'So it is,' he said.
And froze. And Raffy froze. And the silence went on for what felt
like hours. And then their eyes met. And Raffy moaned like a beaten
animal. And each of them knew that the other one knew. Just three words
and in a flash Billy was skinned alive.
If this hit the spot for you, or you'd like other spots hit, let me know -
Zac on zaccooee@yahoo.com.au